The Misunderstanding
by Catherine Medici
Summary: Red and Lizzie reunite after a TERRIBLE misunderstanding which has caused a lot of suffering for them both. As they compare stories, will they be able to pick up the pieces? Rated M
1. Intruder

**~ I don't own any of the characters ~ (Gotta be the most uninteresting disclaimer ever)**

* * *

The click of a swipe key in the door was all the warning she had that she was about to have company. She nestled into the lounge chair she was sitting in; adjusting her limbs into what she deemed to be a relaxed and bold pose, all the while adrenaline flooded her as she prepared herself for the confrontation to come.

Two sets of footsteps in the hall. She listened carefully as they halted, suddenly becoming aware that there was an intruder in the apartment. Footsteps again, this time lighter, quicker, as though searching out the threat that had entered their safe house.

He appeared at the door of the living room she had made herself comfortable in, his gun drawn, and Dembe one step behind. She flinched. Despite every intention to control her features and movements, she couldn't help it. Seeing him after all these months, remembering the last time they had spoken was more than enough to set her pulse racing. She clenched her teeth and breathed deeply through her nose.

And smiled.

"Well hello Red...Dembe."

Silence stretched before them as they stood in the doorway. His jaw worked convulsively, disbelief etched into the lines of his face. His eyes...oh, God, his eyes said so much. She flicked her gaze away for just a moment to catch her breath but returned to his face and waited, watching carefully.

"Lizzie."

Spoken low and roughly, her name elicited the most unsettling jump in her belly. She tensed, pushing aside the feelings just one word from his lips could bring to the surface. She wouldn't let him manipulate her, she _wouldn't._

He lurched forward into the room, toward her, hand outstretched, stopping short as she scrambled up from the lounge chair and away from him.

"Please stay where you are. I won't be here long. There's no need to…whatever it is that…" She jittered.

"Stay where I am? Lizzie, how did you escape? Are you okay? Was it of your own volition or were you released? Did anyone follow you?"

His words were strident and urging, confusing her with their intensity.

Escape. Yes, she had escaped. She had spent months in a facility where very little English was spoken, the least of her worries, if she was honest. Her isolation had been a complete thing, blanketing her, suffocating her, and eventually extinguishing any hope of rescue or escape.

He hadn't left his place in the middle of the room, his hand still outstretched.

"I've been looking for you Lizzie..." he started, his throat closing in, emotion heavy in his voice. He began again, "Every day, every single day since you were taken... I found where you were early on. I've spent every resource, choked the life out of every connection to try and get to you. How did you get out, sweetheart? When the best I could throw at them couldn't get in?"

As he spoke, Liz carefully settled an expression of light-hearted satisfaction on her face. She needed to get what she came for and get out, before she was sucked into his game. She knew enough now to know she wasn't just a pawn on the board like she had initially believed after the Braxton incident. But she wasn't his queen either. Another held that place.

She couldn't really judge him. Perhaps she would have done the same. Who could know? She didn't want a place on this chessboard any longer though. She wanted out, a new identity, a new life where she could forget the past months, even the past years. She'd thought about it. Who else but the Concierge of Crime? This is the package he offered, wasn't it? He'd said so himself at one time or another.

"Lizzie, are you ill?" he asked gently.

"No, I'm fine". His question bringing her back to earth with a start. "I came to purchase something from you. The...package you offer, a new identity, freedom right? A one way ticket, no questions asked?"

He braced as though he'd been hit. His features heavy with concern, he moved slowly toward her as though she were a long legged deer he hoped not to startle.

But she did startle.

" _Get away from me,_ " she hissed.

"Lizzie" he entreated, "sweethea-"

"DON'T sweetheart me! I can pay you, Red. I have money. I've been on the run for weeks and I haven't been lazy. I can give you five million dollars for the complete package. I want it this time tomorrow though. I'll take whatever you can have ready for me then."

She thought she'd done well. No bullshit. She was in control here. If he didn't want his five million, she'd just go somewhere else. It didn't mean anything that she'd come to him first, she told herself. He was the best at this. She had made the smart move.

She looked searchingly at his countenance and stiffened. He was angry, furious even. If she hadn't been familiar with that particular expression, she wouldn't have ever known. But she knew him. Knew how he could place a mask over almost every emotion that burned through his damnable body. Right now, that mask was the thickest she'd ever seen it. His face schooled into a blankness that was on the edge of frightening.

"Weeks. You've been free for weeks," His voice was as flat and blank as his face. "How? I'll address why you didn't reach out to me sooner in a minute but I need to know how? What makes you think they haven't been following you the whole time, that you haven't led them here?"

He winced as soon as the words left his mouth, knowing she'd immediately extrapolate the worst conclusions on his motivations for asking. He was right.

"I have spent four months in hell, Red," her voice was shades of saccharine. "Do you know what hell was? A training facility. Initially, I thought they'd just pump me for information, shoot me in the head once they had what they wanted and be done with it. But I was there for training, as their asset in a nice little farm of _very_ competent assassins. They trained me well Red. A complete education. No one followed me. At least…those that did are dead. So you really don't need to worry yourself." Her voice was sing-song, brittle, unnaturally childish even, as she painted the picture for him.

She stopped; her breathing had gotten shallow, her eyes darting around the room. She had to stop thinking. She rocked her body back and forth slowly, breathing in time to her movement. She had to STOP THINKING.

She hadn't realised she had yelled this aloud until Red was in front of her, holding her as she flailed away from him.

"NO, get away from me," she keened

"Why? Tell me why Lizzie, and I'll step back."

"You don't know…" She trailed off. "You, I…I poisoned a man just by touching him. I could poison you, I shouldn't care if I did,' she moaned. "Red please, just give me the package. You can't possibly have anything more to gain by keeping me here…by giving me back to them. You have Jennifer now. Isn't she safe?"

"I WHAT?!" he thundered.

She flinched away from his anger as though he'd lashed her with a whip, diving for the floor.

"Please, please oh God, I'm sorry, I'll do it, I'll DO IT" she shrieked nonsensically.

Her body curled into itself on the floor, her hands raised in supplication as though the man standing in front of her were driving her, forcing her. To do what, he didn't know.

Red stood in shock, staring down at this mess of a woman, his Lizzie. When he'd first seen her there he'd thought he would have her white hot anger and disdain to contend with, but this…this was…what had happened?

He raised his eyes to Dembe who was standing silently the whole time in the doorway.

Dembe had been looking sorrowfully at Lizzie but now met his employer's eyes across the room.

Red jerked his chin toward the man.

"First aid kit," was all he said as Dembe disappeared into the kitchen in search of it.

Lizzie continued to rock and mumble on the floor until Dembe returned with a glass of water and two pills.

He proffered these towards Red who took them and slowly sank to the floor in front of Lizzie. He sat the glass and pills on a coffee table and stroked her hair softly as her murmuring and sobbing quieted to a lull.

"Lizzie, will you take this? It's just Valium, to calm you. I won't force you, darling, but I wish you would."

She looked up from her position cautiously, her face blotchy and her eyelashes wet with tears. She searched his face for intent and finding nothing alarming, her eyes dropped to the pills. She timidly took them and swallowed with the water.

"Red, I can throw a knife hard enough to kill from 30 paces, I can…move around a room unnoticed and climb a secure multi-story building…that's how I got in here…but I'm not…okay. They did things…they got inside my…head."

She drooped, her whole body admitting defeat. She'd held it together for weeks now. On the run and afraid, she'd talked herself into believing she was hardened and polished but the cracks had shown after just one look at him. Even if he did give her the package she asked for, how was she going to manage? She needed more than just his assistance creating a new identity. She needed _him_.

He had started stroking her hair again. She hadn't even noticed, lost in dark thoughts. His hand strayed to her cheek, wiping a tear away.

"They haven't fed you enough," his voice was clipped, tight with outrage as his eyes roamed her too-slender form.

"No, I could have used some take out but they didn't allow delivery," she chortled, watching him as he raised an eyebrow at her quip.

"Could you…tell me how this happened Lizzie" He asked hesitantly, uneasy about setting off another reaction.

"I guess. Where do you want me to start? From the day I knew you'd sold me out or the day they came for me?"

"Sold you out?" He echoed in blank amazement. "Lizzie, where did you hear that?" he had a quizzical expression on his face. He passed a hand across his eyes, weary but listening. "I think you should start from the beginning sweetheart".

"The beginning then," she agreed.


	2. Biodynamic champagne

**Thank you for your lovely responses :) I have found a kickass beta, FilmsAreFriends from over at AO3. She's amazing!**

 **I can't wait to tell you guys all about the money and what happened! But Lizzie wants to start from the beginning so here we go!**

 **~5 months earlier ~**

Lizzie looked in the mirror, a smile playing softly at her lips.

Red had been difficult up until recently. Understandably so, she supposed. He'd withdrawn from her, becoming isolated and introspective. She'd taken that to mean he was disappointed in her. Had she ruined his plans? He always had so many balls in the air that she'd never be able to tell unless he confided in her which was not something he appeared to have any intention of doing. So she'd waited, feeling chastened, trying to make herself small and unnoticeable as they switched from van to car to the back of a truck and to a car again, finally arriving at the tarmac of a small airport.

They'd had a few close calls. On the first day, they'd had to don police uniforms to get past a blockade. They'd had to abandon a transfer point at one stage when a member of the public had appeared to recognise her from the news bulletins still airing every night. They'd fled then in a stolen car to make it to their next meet point.

But they had made it. And they'd flown out of Mexico to the relative safety of Cuba.

It hadn't immediately gotten any better. Red had retreated to a study in the palatial residence they'd ensconced themselves in. He would come out for meals and a short walk in the morning, but for the most part he left her to her own devices. They had full housekeeping and a chef. No television, and very few books. That didn't leave her a lot to do.

So she'd pulled out the big guns in an effort to remove him from his self-imposed retreat.

She'd tried to cook for him.

Her smile in the mirror widened as she recalled only a few days ago how she had burnt the roast in the oven so badly that Red had burst from the study in a panic. He'd eyed the mess she'd made in the kitchen with disdain and all of a sudden it was like he was back.

"Really Lizzie?" He'd inquired with his familiar flamboyance. "I haven't met anyone who could cause upheaval in the kitchen quite like you can." He'd surveyed the wreckage as she flapped a towel ineffectually toward the smoke alarm. He'd winced theatrically at the shrill beeping that had been the cause of his panicked egress from his desk in the study. "Oh, I'm lying! My apologies. I once spent a weekend with a can-can dancer in Paris. She _insisted_ on cooking me an omelette for breakfast. Wouldn't hear of allowing me to leave without tasting her famous experimental broccoli and peanut butter omelette. Upheaval was not the word for it Lizzie. I'm _positive_ she should have been arrested for crimes against cuisine. In Paris no less! Abysmal ending to a marvellous weekend." He'd moved efficiently around the kitchen while sharing this story with her, turning the oven off and throwing out the unsalvageable roast.

He had turned toward her and quirked an eyebrow.

"Let's go for a walk Lizzie, we can get dinner while we're out".

"I'd like that", she'd agreed, barely containing her relief at this regained normalcy.

They'd walked and talked, about inconsequential things. Red spoke about the food he loved in Havana, buying them both a pulled pork sandwich for dinner.

They had returned to the safe house hours later, conversation exhausted. Red had poured them both a scotch and made himself comfortable on the sofa instead of returning to the study.

Lizzie's mouth had been dry. She wanted to make the most of this connection with him but she didn't want to scare him away. He had steered the conversation until that point. What if she steered wrong now? Would he remain here to talk with her?

"Red" She'd ventured.

He'd looked up, an expression of polite inquiry on his face.

"How bad is it?"

"How bad is what, Lizzie?"

"Our situation. Oh, you know what I mean. The situation I've put us in. You haven't said anything. Is there a plan? I mean…" She'd faltered under his gaze, ashamed and fearful of a confrontation that could only put her firmly in the wrong corner after what she'd done.

"I've been working on it," he acknowledged quietly. "If I'd known you were wound that tightly, Lizzie, I would have had your tail do more than just watch and report. As it is, all they could tell me was what occurred leading up to you shooting Connolly. There was no time to stop you or diffuse the situation and I deeply regret that. I should have had more security around you."

She'd been shocked. He blamed himself? She'd remonstrated with him, pointing out her foolishness in refusing his help. She'd been surprised too. She realised she shouldn't have been. When did Raymond Reddington not have more cards than he cared to let on? She recalled the wait staff in the hotel, quietly setting up for the function that was to take place there that evening. His people of course.

All her words made not the slightest difference. He steadfastly shouldered the blame. His guilt in the very set of his shoulders.

And she realised why he didn't want to talk with her any more than he had to. He felt like he'd failed her. He had dreaded seeing disappointment in her eyes and had put it off as long as he could.

He hadn't spoken a word about her revelation to him about the night of the fire. She worried for him as the days passed. He spent time with her, ate with her, and walked with her in the early evenings, rarely talking about anything that touched on what he saw as his failure to protect her.

He went out by himself occasionally, instructing her to lock all doors and not to venture out until he returned. She still felt shy and unentitled to any information that wasn't offered freely. She did as he asked without comment.

And then today, he had come home with shopping bags, announcing happily that he was taking her to a performance by a Cuban violinist.

"Lizzie, she's spectacular. She sings as well-and let me tell you, she'll heat your blood! Let's go, I bought you a new dress!" He grinned like a boy, grabbing her hand and pulling her upstairs to show her what he bought.

She raised her eyebrows at the azure silk dress that he gently drew out from its tissue paper. It was beautiful and it fit perfectly. She examined herself in the mirror again. She turned to Red sitting on her bed watching her with rapt attention as she adjusted the diamond pendant and earrings he'd given her.

"All ready then," She dimpled, waiting for a comment. He didn't usually fail to compliment her when she dressed up.

"Lizzie...you're divine", he promptly offered, presenting her his arm. She took it gratefully, steadying herself in her brand new strappy heels.

She smiled. "You're not so bad yourself". She fingered the material of his lapel. "I like it when you wear a tux."

Red was right. The performance was magic. Lizzie felt her heartbeat thrumming. Sweat was beading on her collarbones as she swayed to the music. Red had ordered a bottle of Jacques Selosse Grand Cru Blanc de Blanc. He'd leaned forward, whispering into her ear.

"Anselme, the proprietor is very particular about who he sells his champagne to. Eccentric fellow, he'll only sell to you if he respects your work as a restaurateur or a wine store owner. He doesn't sell to the public _at all_ and if there's even a whiff of chain store about you, forget it." He raised his glass to hers in salute. "I once worked in the vines for a week to convince him to sell me a dozen bottles. It's biodynamic champagne Lizzie. Anselme tells me you can get as giggly as you like without worrying about a headache in the morning. Shall we test that theory?" He smirked aggravatingly at her.

She snorted, leaning into him, grateful that he was playful with her and quite willing to play too.

"I'm game if you are," she teased.

A flicker of surprise registered across his features. He'd expected to ruffle her feathers a little, suggesting they get drunk together. He hadn't expected her to play ball. He'd file that away for further thought.

They slowly made their way home on foot, Red's arm securely around her waist, their bodies pressed comfortably together as they meandered back to the opulent mansion they had moved to the morning before. Red was keeping up with old habits. Constantly on the move, he'd picked this new place on the edge of town for its security as he didn't have his usual detail around him. A low profile was necessary so the formidable gates, security cameras and bolt holes around the residence would have to do in place of men around the perimetre.

She turned to face him as soon as the front door closed behind them.

"You were right Red", she grinned impishly." I can get as giggly as I like and I feel great".

He laughed softly at her.

"We'll see how you feel in the morning then, shall we?"

"I don't know. Want to see how I feel now?"

"Lizzie," He frowned, gently guiding her by the elbow to her open bedroom door. She swayed a little, leaning into him, her hands splayed across his chest to steady herself.

"Go to bed Lizzie," he suggested with a smile of slight unease. His grip on her elbow had tightened. He was aware of the heat emanating off of her body, of feeling the silken skin on her arm and his own want.

She turned her face up to him and he stepped back, letting go of his grip. She sensed his discomfort and arched an eyebrow.

"Thank you for taking me out tonight. It was nice to do something fun with you. It was a bit wild actually."

"It was my pleasure. I don't think I've seen you dance like that before. If I'd known…" he trailed off.

His voice warmed her. She closed her eyes, hoping he would say more.

"Bed. Lizzie, its almost 3AM ", he reminded her.

She opened her eyes and huffed giddily, turning into her bedroom. She threw a glance back at the door but he had already padded on down the hall.

"G'night, Red" she called out.

"Goodnight, cheeky," he threw back from further down the hall.

She giggled and threw herself onto her bed with a belly flop, squeezing her eyes shut. What a night! Red had been so...gentlemanly, suave, and in control-for once, she felt receptive to that. What once infuriated her, tonight was somehow...sexy.

Her eyes popped open. Had she really propositioned the Concierge of Crime just moments ago by her bedroom door? She sat up and plumped her pillow. Yes, she'd done that. Her lips twitched remembering how he'd appeared like a cornered bear when she'd leaned into him, touching his chest.

Her hand slid to her abdomen, stroking her dress, enjoying the sensation of the smooth silk. Her thoughts drifted off to the day she first met the man.

How many times had she thought of that day before now? Her mind often went back, worrying at every angle. If she'd said this? What if she'd done that instead? She had never come back to that memory before though...with a tingle between her legs. Her thoughts drifted further to the day she had stabbed him in the neck with a pen. She remembered the furious haze of violence, his hand over hers against his neck, blood dripping on his warm skin and through their fingers.

Her hand drifted lower, stroking down to her upper leg, she absentmindedly pinched the fabric between her thumb and forefinger, drawing her dress up to her waist. The heat was cloying and the feel of the cool silk drawn across her skin was tantalizing. She found herself thinking of his face, how mobile his features could be. His lips pursed, deep in thought but still aware of every little detail of the world around him. His bright playfulness as he found humour in almost any situation. He was so tactile, using any opportunity to touch, light caresses at the small of her back, a gentle hand on her shoulder, his lips in her hair, offering comfort, whispering endearments. She smiled. And she drifted.

He was above her. In the dark.

"Hello Lizzie," he breathed hot in her ear. "Were you thinking of me just now?" His hand moved to cup her chin, forcing her to look up into his face. Moving further onto the bed, he knelt above her, his undershirt glowing a soft white in the dark.

"I was. I was thinking of every time you've touched me Red. Thinking how good it would feel now."

He ran his hand lightly down and across her neck, tracing the lines of her clavicle. Her breath hitched as he stroked lower and lower, finding a nipple taut beneath the fabric of her dress.

He lowered his mouth to hers, taking her bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently, kissing the corners of her mouth, as she moaned into his.

"Red, please."

A deep, satisfied chuckle. "Tell me what you want."

"I", she gasped as he lightly pinched her nipple between his thumb and finger. " _Red, more, I want more."_

"Hmmm," he moved to lie on his side, flush against her, supporting his upper body on his elbow. He traced soft light kisses down her jaw and slowly moved his hand to the waistband of her underpants.

His hand at her hipbone felt glorious, so heavy and warm. She bucked her hips toward him, begging, wanting, her ragged breathing loud in the quiet of the night.

He slid his hand further down and stroked her, a long, firm swipe of his finger. She whimpered as he touched and caressed, gasping as he entered her with two fingers, thrusting into her, first slow and deep, then faster as she quivered, sensation building at her core until she…

Woke up with a soft moan, her fingers wet with her arousal. She blinked at the light of the clock radio on her nightstand telling her it was 4:26AM. Blearily, she looked about the room, her body still trembling with the aftershock of her climax. She inhaled and exhaled deeply. She was alone in the room. _Well. That had been an interesting exercise in listening to her subconscious._


	3. Love letters in the sand

**~Present day~**

Neither of them had moved from the floor as Lizzie shared her thoughts and feelings about the time soon after they went on the run. His posture indicated he was finding it quite an uncomfortable place.

"Lizzie, would you mind?" He gestured towards the sofa. She nodded and gracefully sprang up, moving with her back to the wall, and an eye to where he was in the room.

"You need to understand I'm not telling you this because I want you to feel bad. I just want you to understand why I…did what I did, that day. I mean, I understood _you_. Why you did what you did."

His face roiled with unidentifiable emotion. "I don't think you do. I don't know yet what it is that you did. You haven't explained what was done to you. I know all about Cuba, Lizzie. I was there, remember?"

She closed her eyes. It was so _good_ to hear his gravelly voice. It didn't matter what he was saying. Like warm honey, she let it envelope her, surround her like his presence usually did.

"Yes, but you don't know what was going on in my head. Maybe you could tell me what was going on in yours, too."

Dembe had gone straight back to the kitchen in his usual discreet fashion as soon as he'd handed the pills over. However, he popped his head around the door now, seizing an opportunity to ask.

"Elizabeth, did you eat all the ice cream? And…everything else?"

Red swivelled to look at her, his mouth twitched.

"Yes," she said evenly, "I was hungry." She met Dembe stare for stare. He nodded and retreated slowly back into the kitchen.

"Oh, that was a low blow," Red chuckled. "Whatever you might have in store for me Lizzie, Dembe likes his gelato and I don't think he'll ever trust you near the refrigerator again."

"I wasn't planning on staying long enough for him to worry about that."

The smile was wiped from his face. "Please continue," he said formally.

* * *

 _ **~ 5 months earlier ~**_

Despite it being early morning and still quite dark, Lizzie got up and had a shower, feeling she needed to gain some distance from her dream. She was startled at how powerfully it had affected her. Thoughts of Raymond Reddington were starting to infect every minute of her existence. She wondered what he would be like as a lover. Tom had always been so considerate. He was perfect, but…bland. She understood why now. It was his job and he said himself, she had been his greatest success. He'd performed the role with consummate skill.

She wanted to feel again what sex would be like with someone who wasn't planning their next move like it was a stage production. With someone who could let go completely. She wanted Red to kiss her and pull her hair, feel him wanting as much as she did. She wanted _something_ wild. She wanted _him_.

She knocked softly on his bedroom door. It was slightly ajar. She could hear gentle snoring emanating from the room. She peeked around the corner. "Red…Red, are you awake?" Creeping further into the room, she picked up a book on his nightstand, thumbing through it absently. Moving to the foot of the bed, she sat gently down. Looking closer at the book, she attempted to read the foreword but gave up, her mind too distracted and restless. She turned her head to look at him and found him staring back at her.

"Awake now, huh?"

"Well, I would still be quite soundly asleep if I hadn't had a nocturnal visitor. What can I do for you Lizzie? "

"It's practically light outside. C'mon, let's go do something wild. Last night gave me a taste for it."

She pushed the book aside and stretched out beside him, over the blanket. "We could rent a scooter…or we could go snorkelling"

He moaned theatrically. "Lizzie, these tired old bones are not likely to keep up with you, and despite last night, as enchanting as it was, we need to be aware of keeping a low profile while we're here."

She raised her eyebrows sceptically. " _Old bones_? Is this the same Raymond Reddington who likes to give the distinct impression that if there's something dangerous and adventurous to do, he's been there, done that and bought the t-shirt?"

He squinted at her. "Tell you what, we'll go to the beach. You'll need a swimsuit."

"Yeah! I'll meet you at the front door in five".

"Make it ten. And I don't wear any t-shirts."

An hour later, she was frolicking in the surf. They'd swung by a surfwear store and she'd selected a red bikini and convinced Red he couldn't step out onto the sand in his three piece suit. She'd made him purchase a linen long sleeved shirt and boardshorts. His air of patience tried to the limit made her laugh aloud.

"C'mon, do you really wear a suit at the beach?"

"Generally, Lizzie, when I go to the beach, I don't wear anything. The advantages of a private beach, I suppose."

"Well, I'm not stopping you."

He flicked a look in her direction but said nothing.

She paddled about in the surf, swam out a bit deeper, enjoying the exercise. It was good to move, to feel her body exhausting itself after being mostly cooped up for over a week.

After a little while, she spotted Red sitting on the beach, apparently occupied in digging up some sand. Her interest piqued, she started heading back in. Clambering up onto the sand, she had a better view of what Red was doing. He'd been building a sand castle. It had _turrets_ and _stairs_ , and _windows_.

He looked up at her approach. "Lizzie," he greeted her brightly, "a palace for a princess. Does it win your approval?"

"You built me a sandcastle?"

He just smiled at her, drinking her in with that _look_ , the one that squeezed at her heart every time she saw it. The look he'd worn the first time she'd seen his face and so many times after.

She dropped to sit beside him. "Impressive. Thank you. How did you get the sides so straight? And those little windows?"

"You're more than welcome. I suppose it's all in the wrists," he furtively hid the popsicle stick he'd been using to smooth down the sides of the sandcastle behind him.

She caught the movement. "Hey, what have you got there?" She grabbed for it, whisking it out of his reach. "You had a popsicle without me?"

"Well, you were clearly having a lot of fun out there and if I'd bought you one it would have melted."

She slapped him playfully as he grinned at her.

"I need you to help me re-apply," she said as she grabbed the bottle of sunscreen, flipping her hair to the side and lying flat on her towel.

His grin faded and he cleared this throat nervously.

"Red? I don't want to get sunburned. Can you?"

"Yes, of course," he said smoothly, squirting a dollop of lotion into his hand. He massaged it firmly into her shoulders, working his way down her back until he hit the straps of her bikini top.

She made a small noise as he lifted the straps to massage underneath. He stopped, hesitant.

"You're alright?" he enquired.

"Yes, fine," she said in a tight, strangled voice.

"You sure?"

"Keep going," she urged.

If she'd seen his face then, she would have known that she had scored a hit. He was struggling with keeping this intimacy as impersonal as possible. As for her, she wasn't even trying. Relishing the feel of his strong hands massaging and smoothing the lotion into her skin, she allowed herself to enjoy the flame slowly heating her belly.

She turned over when he was done, her heavily lidded eyes telegraphing to him exactly what her intentions were.

He swallowed.

"Now let me do you Red," she said, followed by a soft smile, clearly enjoying his discomfiture.

"I'm not wearing a bikini."

She huffed a laugh. "No, but your face and head could still burn."

He raised an eyebrow but moved to sit in front of her on the towel. She gently pulled him towards her, leaning into him, lightly applying sunscreen to his forehead and cheeks and gently smoothing it out across his face. There had always been something about his face that made her want to touch him, to trace the lines around his eyes when he laughed.

She slipped a hand under his shirt and in the split second that she realised she was touching burn scars similar to her own, his breath hitched sharply and he catapulted himself forward, away from her and turned to face her, looking incredibly guilty.

"Red," she whispered.

He just looked at her, waiting.

"Were you going to tell me soon? I would have figured it out anyway. It was you, wasn't it? You rescued me that night."

"No… no, I wasn't planning on telling you. You already know too much anyway. I just wanted you to be safe."

She looked steadily at him. He appeared so vulnerable. It dawned on her that if he had her heart in his hand, well, she had his in hers too. They were both as vulnerable as each other. She wanted to be kind. Kinder than she had been, just this once.

"Come here, will you?" She stretched a hand out. He didn't wait, he took it eagerly, allowing her to move into his space and embrace him gently. She stroked his back lightly through his shirt, pressing her face into his shoulder.

"Let's go home."

"I won't fit inside the sandcastle."

He laughed. "The other palace then, princess." He paused. "Speaking of which, we'll need to move on soon. I've been thinking we'll head to Germany, maybe the Black Forest. What do you think Lizzie?"

She smiled and cupped his face, bringing it down to hers. This time, he didn't appear disconcerted. He'd gotten the message.

He kissed her deeply.

* * *

If she'd thought this meant she was about to find out what it was like to have Raymond Reddington as a lover she was wrong.

That day and the next he kissed her and didn't stop kissing her. He held her close and they walked as a pair of lovers along the streets of the old town, stopping often to examine anything that piqued his interest. He had stories to tell. So many stories. They could walk down any street and he'd find something that reminded him of something that he just had to share.

Days went by. The first night after they had kissed on the beach, he had smiled at her and kissed her goodnight, going to his study to make some phone calls. She'd waited for him but he never appeared at his door or hers.

All he would do with her was kiss and touch her, fully clothed. His hands would wander to her breasts, driving her crazy with anticipation but he never went any further and blocked any attempt she made to unzip him or take her clothes off.

It wasn't like he didn't want to go further. His eyes squeezed shut, breathing heavy, ragged breaths, and he'd groan and turn away.

Frustrated and confused after three days of what she privately thought was cruel and unusual punishment, she barged into his study, while he was on the phone.

"Red, we need to talk."

He frowned at her but nodded at her to take a seat. She continued to stand.

"Thank you Dembe, we'll see you soon." He hung up the phone. "That was Dembe," he said somewhat unnecessarily. "But it might have been someone else. Lizzie, it's important that you're careful. I've gone to great effort to give the impression to our enemies that we split up a while ago. Now tell me what's wrong?"

"No, you tell me what's wrong".

He blinked. "I'm not following".

"You want me, but you don't _want_ me. Why won't you make love to me?"

His expression was pained amusement. "Lizzie… Just let me….court you. Please."

It was her turn to be taken aback. "You want to court me?" she said softly.

He sighed and stood up, reaching for her, his arms encircling her waist. "Yes, I want to court you. Do you know how special you are? You've also been through a terrifying time of upheaval and I don't want to rush you. You need to be sure of your feelings. Don't misunderstand me Lizzie. I want you. But I can wait."

She nodded, placated and secretly delighted.

He kissed her temple, drawing her closer. "You should know, Dembe will be meeting us here soon and we'll be flying to Germany in a few days. In the meantime, I have some errands to run, and I'd appreciate it if you could go into town. I need you to pick up a package. You won't need to meet with anyone. It's at a PO box. I'll give you the key."

She dimpled. "You trust me to do that?"

He pulled his head back to look her full in the face. "Well, I don't know," he pretended to ruminate on it. "I might have to have you fitted with a DARPA chip. Would that be ok?"

"Hmph," she gave him a dirty look and straightened his tie. "Just tell me where I'm going, Reddington."

* * *

She walked into town, humming to herself, taking it all in as she realised she'd be leaving soon. She'd made such beautiful memories in just a few days with Red. She felt safe with him no matter where they were but these last few days she didn't think she'd ever forget.

She had no problem with the package. It was there, just as he'd said. She scooped it up and locked the box. She was on her way back when she crossed the street, not knowing why, just this impulsive urge to cross. A sudden uneasiness pricked at the back of her neck. She scanned the crowds, swivelling her head to take a look behind her. Nothing. She didn't see anything to put her on guard. She turned around again and there he was. Tom. Standing in a doorway ahead, staring at her.


	4. You never really know someone, do you?

****~ 4 1/2 months ago ~****

"Tom," She mouthed silently. She stood still, the shock of seeing him rendering her nerveless, her legs like jelly.

He pushed off from the side of the doorway he was leaning against and made his way toward her.

"Liz, it's good to see you. I've been a little worried, but it looks like you've been having an okay time," he said lightly.

"You've been following me?"

"Well, I've been trying to _find_ you. You really made some waves, huh?"

"Look, Tom, I'm really sorry about that night on the boat. I took advantage of you and that was inconsiderate of me ," she offered apologetically.

"Listen Liz, can we talk? I've got something important to say."

She looked around nervously. "I'm okay, Tom. I'm safe. I'm sorry again about the boat. It wasn't…" She cleared her throat. "It wasn't appropriate."

He laughed. "Liz, I just wanna talk. I have information."

"You should tell Reddington. He can help. Do you need help, Tom?"

He straightened in annoyance. "No I don't _need_ help. I'm trying to help _you_. And I don't think talking to Reddington is such a good idea. I'm not

enthused to be still standing here out in the open either. You got a place?"

She scanned the crowds anxiously; half hoping Red would appear and break this little reunion up. She looked back at him. He had an open, patient expression fixed on his face.

"Alright , but you can't stay, I'm sorry. If you want money, he can help you but you've got to give me the information… you need to give it to me and you've got to go, okay?

Tom snorted. "That's nice Liz. He's always seemed like the type of guy who pays his debts. That's real nice."

Liz twinged inwardly. She was reminded of how Tom had offered up his sanctuary for Red's makeshift emergency surgery. For her, he'd said.

"Let's go." She shouldered the package and moved confidently down the street in the direction of the safe house. She hoped she was making the right decision.

They walked back together in silence for a few minutes. Tom was clearly preparing himself to say something.

"So, you and Reddington," he began awkwardly with a sidelong glance. "I caught a glimpse of you yesterday out in front of the museum. You seemed…close." He hunched his shoulders at her stony silence. "I just wondered that's all... has he given you your answers yet?"

Liz sighed. "No, not yet, but I've been a bit preoccupied with fleeing the FBI and whoever else is out there chasing me."

They approached the security gates, and Liz swiped her access pass and pressed her thumb down onto a pad for identification, the gates swung open. She jerked her head toward the house, which was a long walk from the front gates and shielded from view by a line of trees. "C'mon, just up there."

He said nothing more until they had entered the house.

"Preoccupied, huh?"

She frowned. "What's this about Tom?"

"Look," he said in a low voice. "I saw you both yesterday. He was _kissing_ you. Liz, do you know how deep you're in?"

"That's really none of your business," she shot back heatedly.

Tom dropped his backpack and rummaged through it, bringing out a thick folder. He shoved it in her hands. "There, this is how deep you're in. Listen, I'm not saying you don't matter to him or that he was using you from the start but you've gotta think the way he thinks. That doesn't come naturally to you, because you're a good person, but I can see it Liz. Just look, look at it," he urged.

She took the folder tentatively and opened it. There were photographs of Red, recent ones judging by his clothes. There were shots of him meeting with someone else. The photos were grainy but she could still make out the person's face enough to recognize that same face in the next photo. It was Matthias Taggart. He'd been implicated in the fulcrum files.

She began to flick through the papers in the folder faster and faster. There were emails between Taggart and CIA, between Taggart and Justice Department. The emails seemed to indicate they'd found Jennifer Reddington and had offered a trade; Jennifer for the Rostova girl.

Liz felt a pain in her chest. She slowly regarded Tom. He looked back at her with pity.

"I don't believe it," she said flatly, trying to hand him back the folder.

He folded his arms. "Keep reading," he said softly.

She glared but turned the page. She was met with Red's signature. She'd become familiar with it after almost two years of working with him. She knew it was his. It was affixed to a legitimate sounding deal. They'd bring him Jennifer unharmed and all he had to do was step aside for an extraction team to come for her. The extraction was set for the next day.

Liz realized she'd been holding her breath. She gasped for air like a fish out of water. She waved him away as he moved to assist, sinking into a chair and covering her face with her hands, the dossier forgotten beside her.

"Liz, we need to run," he said urgently. "If we run now, we have a chance. I've got the boat in the harbor. Let's just go. He's probably got cash stashed around all over this place. Let's take it and run."

She looked at him in annoyance, even now, thinking that Red may have betrayed her; she felt an inclination to defend his interests. Letting Tom _rob_ him was unacceptable.

"How did you get this?" She waved her hand toward the folder.

"I'm a spy. It's what I do."

"You believe it?"

"Yeah, I do. I'm sorry Liz. I know you care about him. Like I said, I'm not saying he planned for this, but he's a businessman and a criminal. He knows the worth of everything, and right now your worth is depreciating _and_ he has an opportunity to offload you for someone who has got to be the most important person in the world to him. Maybe he intended to keep you safe, even if you weren't worth anything to him on the run… but not now."

"Not now," she echoed, staring at nothing.

"Liz? Lets go."

"No," she said unexpectedly. "I need to think. Don't say anything, okay? I need you to be quiet."

He looked offended.

"I haven't eaten lunch, have you?"

"Liz! What is wrong with you? Do you even know when he's coming back? I risked a lot to bring you this. If I'm found here…"

"I'll make us something to eat."

He followed her into the kitchen, agitated. "Listen, babe, how about you come with me now? We don't have time for this. You can think on the way there." He stopped to regard her. "What are you doing? You're chopping tomatoes?"

"You," she pointed her kitchen knife at him, "Be quiet. Or help me."

"I don't believe this." He elbowed her out of the way and sliced through the tomatoes like a hurricane.

Liz finished assembling the rest of their salad and sat at the kitchen bench. Tom quietly sat beside her and ate. She picked at the salad.

"I guess I'm not hungry."

He snorted. "I think you're in shock."

She turned to look at him. "You said he knows the worth of everything," she said slowly, "But you don't understand, this isn't about a business transaction. This is his _daughter_."

"And this is you, being handed over to the bad guys like a sack of grain. That's what's going to happen Liz."

She looked down at her hands. "Tom, if I ask you to wait on the boat. Would you do it? I don't know what I'm going to do yet."

"Yes you do," he jeered. "You know exactly what you're going to do. You're more of an idiot than I thought."

Tom jumped up furiously to pace the room. "You know what? I'll wait. You have one day Liz but I have a feeling I'll be the only one on that boat tomorrow." With that, he grabbed his backpack, snatching the folder up and walked out the door without a backward glance.

Liz sat disconsolately at the kitchen bench. If she'd just followed Tom a minute later she might have caught him prowling around in the gardens. She might have even heard his hushed phone call to persons unknown; a call confirming her location.

* * *

 **~Present day~**

Red held his head in his hands. A lot more was clear now. He had his version of that day to share before he could hear more. He only hoped she'd listen.

She'd been silent now for a few minutes.

"Lizzie, when I came home that day," he cleared his throat, displeased at the hoarseness of his voice. "My perspective was very different."

She looked exhausted. There were shadows under her eyes. Her hair was sticking up in all directions. She held her head up though and his heart soared at the challenge in her eyes. She wasn't broken. Hurt terribly, yes. She hadn't come back to him the same, but she wasn't broken.

He would protect her while she gained some stability.

"What was your perspective then?"

"Well..." He began.

* * *

 **~ 4 1/2 months ago ~**

Red had finished up with his contact and was headed back to the safe house. Keeping control of his criminal empire had proven very tricky and required a lot of hours on the phone. He relied particularly on Dembe who was far more able than he at that moment to move freely about the world. He'd missed his friend and was looking forward to seeing him again.

But his thoughts were on someone else. Lizzie. He knew he was distracted, knew he would have to shake off the...lightness in his heart. It was causing him to make decisions that weren't in either of their best interests. They had been acting like tourists when they should have been laying low. All he wanted to do was scoop the whole world up, tie a bow on it and present it to her.

What had she said once?

 _You understand that tight bonds can make you vulnerable, so you're careful not to have any. And that's why you're so conflicted about me._

He chuckled to himself. Conflicted? She didn't know the half of it.

He pushed aside those thoughts. Time enough to think about the complications of a relationship with Lizzie later. He just wanted to enjoy her now, enjoy her reactions to everything he could show her. It was all so new to her and he loved to see it through her eyes. Maybe he could show her his favorite schloss in Bavaria. Did she like beer? He could take her to a rollicking biergarten in Munich.

He glanced out the window, humming a tune. His foot twitched on the accelerator reflexively at the sight that met his eyes.

Trudging along on the side of the road, a good mile from the safe house...was that, _Tom_? It was. He was walking in the opposite direction that Red was heading in.

He stepped on the gas. _Lizzie_.

In what felt like an hour but was probably just moments, he was at the gate. He swiped his card and gave his thumb for identification. He drove up to the house, his lips compressed tightly, angry at himself. It should _not_ have been so easy for anyone to find them. Least of all Tom, who had no resources to rely on.

He paused at the door. What if she had found him? What if she had reached out to Tom, lonely or afraid even. Perhaps she was regretting this progression of their relationship.

He swallowed, took a breath and entered the house.

"Lizzie," he called out brightly. Would she tell him of her own accord?

"In here," a wavering voice from the kitchen.

He followed her voice into the kitchen, wary at this new sound of uncertainty.

"How did it go?" He took his hat off and placed it on the counter top.

"What? Oh, the package. Yeah, its here," she got up and picked up a package that looked as though it had been flung haphazardly on a chair. She still hadn't met his eyes.

"How did your errands go?" That light thread of anxiety was still present in her voice. She moved around the kitchen, wiping down the bench, her eyes trained on the counter top.

"Very well," he said briefly. Anger coiled in his belly. He hadn't asked her to give more. It had been her that had pushed at him, pressing his buttons. Had she just been playing? Were her actions this past week the insecurities of a spoiled child, wanting to be wanted?

She sighed. "Red, I have an awful headache. I think I'm going to go and rest. Can you just...hold me for a second though?"

Relief flooded him. She wasn't well. He reached for her, gently stroking her hair. Really, he didn't know that Tom had entered the house anyway. Seeing him on the road could have meant any number of things. He wouldn't worry her with this now. Not while she was feeling fragile.

She rubbed her face against his shoulder, sighing again. She looked up at him with unfocused eyes.

"I'll go have a nap. Maybe I'll feel better in a little bit."

"You do just that, we need you feeling chipper for tomorrow," He said warmly.

She stiffened. "Tomorrow?"

He raised an eyebrow inquiringly at her reaction. "Dembe arrives tomorrow. We've moved up our flight. We're leaving tomorrow, as soon as he gets here."

She smiled weakly. "Oh, right. Well I better catch that nap then."

He watched her leave the kitchen. Troubled, he looked around. She was ill, she wasn't herself. But her reaction on hearing they were leaving earlier. Had she planned on meeting Tom after all?

He moved toward the sink, noticing the two bowls of leftover salad sitting there.

* * *

Two people furiously pacing in different areas of the same house. Footsteps in the bedroom and the study.

She threw a punch at the wall, pulling it at the last minute, frightened that he might hear. DAMN him. If he'd just involved her, offered her some agency in her own fate. Was he so sure that she wouldn't work with him? She could have helped. They could have planned. It didn't have to be this way. She curled up on the floor, clutching her pillow to her face, biting down on it... muffling her screams of pain and betrayal.

He threw a punch at the mantelpiece in his study. Damn her. He knew he wasn't good enough for her, he'd never even _considered_ romance, his mind shying away from something so extraordinarily impossible. SHE had been the one to make her intentions clear that she wanted more. Hadn't he treated her respectfully? Not rushing her, focused only on making sure she knew what she was doing. He would have been content to be her protector only. He would always put her life above his. Surely she knew that? His shaking hands poured a scotch and he tossed it back with a grimace.

Later that night, Lizzie still hadn't emerged from her bedroom. He sat in the semi-darkness, a few drinks down. Not drunk. Despite the appearance that he carefully cultivated of unbridled hedonism, he was a workaholic, a businessman, he needed to be in control. He didn't feel in control, though. He'd told her that was what love was . Losing control. He hadn't realized the full truth of that statement until now.

Well. He would let her make her choice. He wouldn't prevent her. But he'd be damned if he'd leave her unprotected. A detail of men were soon to arrive with Dembe. He'd send them down to the docks first thing tomorrow.

* * *

 **~ The next day ~**

A tap at her closed bedroom door. It was early morning.

"Lizzie?"

She tensed at his voice.

"Don't come in just yet, I'm not...up..." she trailed off, realizing how ridiculous that sounded now when they had a level of intimacy that precluded any awkwardness in him finding her in her pajamas.

"Alright. I'm leaving now to meet Dembe. Don't...let any strangers in while I'm away okay?"

Her mouth dropped. Was this a _game_ to him? Was he delighting in her seeming innocence of what was about to happen? Furious tears stung her eyes. She didn't reply to him. Burrowing under the bed covers, she let out a soft moan, her turmoil almost a physical thing.

Her thoughts returned to his last words to her. Maybe he was struggling to make this choice. Had there been regret in his voice? Did any part of him want her to know and run? She believed he loved her, in whatever way he was capable of. She curled in on herself. Her face was stiff with dried tears. She knew what her decision was. She'd made it the minute she'd seen the agreement. She just hadn't admitted it to herself.

Her head popped up above the bed covers. Silence throughout the house. She got up and wobbled. She felt light headed, disembodied even. She giggled somewhat inappropriately. She was going to be disembodied today, she was going to die. For Raymond Reddington.

"Never let it be said," she muttered to herself, selecting a pair of jeans and a pretty blouse from the wardrobe and holding them against herself in the mirror, "that Elizabeth Keen went to the guillotine in a shabby outfit."

She laughed harshly at how silly she was being. Was this how people on death row felt? This sense of the absurdness of everything? She stared at herself in the mirror, a tear rolling down her cheek. She brushed it away furiously. She wouldn't cry. She would smile for the security cameras, dammit.

She made her way downstairs, ate a bowl of cereal and thought about what she'd have if she could have anything in the world as her last meal. She didn't think it would be Cocoa Pebbles if she'd had the choice.

She sat by the intercom system in the hall. The camera there provided a view of the front gate. Minutes went by and then hours. How long was this going to take? She felt her calm slipping away. Her mind trying desperately to focus on anything but the torture that was sure to occur before they killed her. She focused on Jennifer. Trying to picture his face on seeing her. She'd never seen him cry. She wondered what it would take.

She shifted to focus on the security cameras again, noticing movement. There were three jeeps at the gate. She smiled. Let's have some fun at least, she thought. She opened the line of the intercom.

It buzzed at the gate. "Please come straight up," she said sweetly, remotely opening the gates from her location.

She moved to the living room. Quietly, she knelt on the carpet and placed her hands behind her head just as she had seen him do on security footage that day two years ago now.

There was a loud crack and then a flurry of noise as the door was pounded in. Shouts from one man to another as they located her in the living room.

Despite her best effort to smile, tears rolled down her face.


	5. Captive

****Thank you all for the lovely reviews and messages. The Lizzington community is the best thing since sliced bread! Also, special thanks to FilmsAreFriends from AO3 who has been madly beta'ing everything and being a fantastic sounding board when I get stuck.****

 ** **I don't own nothin Mister an if I did I'd never tell :P****

* * *

 **~ 4 ½ months ago ~**

They swarmed the dock but came up short. Nothing. The man, Keen, they'd been sent to watch and follow him. He'd already flown the coop. Reddington would not be pleased.

* * *

Red sat at a cafe with Dembe and snapped his cell phone shut. He had his sunglasses and an airy look of unconcern on his face. Dembe had picked up on his mood and quietly waited. He guessed that being forced into such close quarters with Elizabeth Keen had caused fireworks which might account for the brittle edge to Red's facade of cheeriness.

Red stood up. "We should get moving Dembe, we'll need to pick up our luggage from the house."

"And Elizabeth?"

Red said nothing.

The car crunched along the unsealed road and pulled up at the gate. Dembe looked out the window with alarm at the tire marks on the ground.

"Raymond! Has someone been at the house?"

He pursed his lips, looking straight ahead. He appeared to make a decision. He turned to speak to his bodyguard and friend. "Lizzie's probably on her way to the Bahamas with Tom right now, Dembe. I fear I've been...careless. She and I had a little summer fling and it appears she had cause to regret her decision. Not to worry, we'll hope that Tom knows what he's doing. In the meantime, I'm not bringing our detail with us to Germany. They'll be locating the lovebirds and keeping an eye on them."

Red nodded to himself and got out of the car. Dembe stared at him for a moment from the driver's seat, his forehead furrowed. He got out and walked up to the house with Red.

* * *

It was immediately obvious, the wreckage of the door impossible to miss. They both froze in their tracks.

"Lizzie!" Red panted painfully as if he'd been sucker punched. He bolted for the entrance, Dembe right behind him.

They tore through the house, checking every room. Nothing. Nothing had been taken. Other than the front door, there was no evidence of force or a struggle.

They met again in the kitchen.

"Raymond, are you sure it was Keen?"

"No, I'm not sure of any of it," he replied shortly. His head jerked up to look at Dembe, eyes suddenly wide. "Security footage."

The two men sat anxiously around the monitor, watching the extraction happen.

The older man appeared haggard and grey, the lines of his face became hard and unrelenting as he watched her on the screen, buzzing the extraction team in through the gates.

Then - confusion blossomed. What was she doing? If they had come here to help get her out, why was she in a posture of surrender? He watched in horror as the door was battered down and men swarmed the safe house with semi-automatics. They found her immediately and didn't hesitate to throw a bag over her head. She was roughly cuffed and half dragged out the door. They'd just tossed her into the back of a jeep, like a cheap cut of steak.

It had all happened so quickly. Red was frozen in place. His mind reeling, scrabbling for a foothold. Nothing made sense. But slowly, his mind clawed its way through the fog. He had to move. Now. He glanced at the time stamp. She'd been abducted at 11:08AM. It was now 2:30PM. Whoever they were, they had hours on him. He couldn't summon his usual vigour at the idea of a chase. The stakes were too high.

* * *

 **~ Present day ~**

Lizzie looked at him, transfixed, with wide eyes, horror stricken.

Hearing him without interrupting had been difficult but she'd bitten her tongue and clenched her jaw as he began, only making the odd, small grief-filled sound at the most difficult parts.

"I once told you I was drowning. I had no idea what drowning felt like. Today I'm drowning."

He reflexively reached out to her as though she were actually drowning and he could save her. His hands dropped to his sides again, reluctant to spook her with his need to show his affection.

"So, who? Who did this? Was Jennifer ever really taken?"

"I wasn't aware that Jennifer had been used against you until now. I've got no reason to believe she's not safe but I'll look into it further. As for who is behind this...Lizzie, there are still things I still won't tell you to ensure your safety."

She laughed low and humorlessly. "Oh, I know more than you think I do."

He blanched. "What do you know?"

* * *

 **~ 4 ½ months ago ~**

All she could remember was that it felt like darkness-, it was her whole world. She knew only that she'd been smuggled onto a plane and then tossed onto the back of a truck. No one had spoken to her. She was gagged on the first day in response to her incessant questioning. She was given food and water three times at different intervals, always in the pitch dark. They'd briefly take the bag off of her head and it would be a race to see if she could eat and drink enough before they took what was left away and replaced the bag. She'd cried silent tears because she was so thirsty, the irony of wasting her tears only making her cry harder.

She was pushed and shoved, stumbling along, feeling her way until she felt solid tile underfoot.

And then suddenly, blinding light.

She squinted in pain. After so many days with no light, the bright, artificial glare pierced her. She blinked and looked around her in confusion. Things were not going the way she'd expected.

There were three people sitting at a desk in front of her, as though she were at a job interview. A blonde woman and two men. On the opposite side of the desk, facing the three, was an empty chair.

Distracted by the odd tableau in front of her, she didn't see the hulk of a man off to her right until she caught his huge fist, smashing into her face with enough force to knock her off her feet.

Pain. So much pain. Her face stung, her ears were ringing. She tried desperately to clear her vision as she saw him advancing on her again.

"Please! Agh..." she wheezed. He'd kicked her in the abdomen. She scrambled away but he only hooked a foot around her leg and dragged her back. She shielded her face with her arms so he went in again for her abdomen.

She didn't have any illusions about what she could withstand. She knew she'd talk. But Red had never given her any intel on the workings of his organization. The fulcrum was already out so she was useless there. She had thought they'd realise quickly she had nothing of value to give.

She'd expected pain, hoped it would be short. What she hadn't expected was the terror. This man didn't even have to try. She was like a kitten, crawling away and being inexorably dragged back each time. He followed her slowly around the room until she was almost in front of the three sitting at the desk again. They'd sat silent and motionless the whole time.

She reached a hand out to them. "Stop," she pleaded, talking through blood and snot. "I'm not resisting. I'll tell you whatever you want."

The woman put her hand up, signalling her hulking aggressor to cease.

"We don't want any information from you." Her voice was sweet and sincere, friendly even, reminding Liz of a favorite elementary school teacher. "You are here for a reason. Sit, and we'll talk."

She painfully grabbed a hold of the empty chair, dragging herself upright and sat slumped in a heap, her shoulders bowed.

"You're here after an extraordinary absence. Your conception and birth was for a specific purpose. You should have arrived here shortly after you were born, however, unexpected events occurred to prevent that happening. Well. You're here now. And we have work to do."

"What?" She'd asked belligerently. She hadn't meant to. The tone just escaped with the exclamation. Nothing this woman had said made sense.

The blonde woman nodded at the hulk. He swung at her and knocked her off the chair. She curled into a ball on the floor, cringing and waiting for the next strike. None came.

"You've had 31 years with no discipline or training. This will be harder on you than it was on the rest. It's not your fault. But you will learn, and learn quickly. Now, stand up and strip."

Her head whipped up to stare in shock, her brow furrowed, her eyes wide. "No." Again, it was out before she could think. Her chin trembled.

The woman nodded again to the man with the fists.

"Okay, okay, please stop!" she screeched, trying to slide away from him on the cold floor. She attempted to stand up to show them she was doing as she'd been asked.

Too late. He swung and she folded up and hit the floor.

"You are," the blonde paused and glanced at a folder in front of her, "number two double eight five. This is important, this is the identification you will give to any staff member who questions or speaks to you in this facility. I hope you understand. Now strip."

Panting and shaking, she got to her feet, already feeling the stiffness from the bruising that was no doubt blossoming all over her slimming body. She stripped. A single dry sob escaped her as she looked at the floor.

"You may call me Gillian," she'd said, "but you will only speak when spoken to. You will follow the instructions of any member of staff, the first time asked or you will be disciplined, commensurate with your infraction. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes," she ventured hesitantly.

Gillian smiled serenely. "Most of your extracurricular activities are not likely to be relevant to the tasks we'll be assigning you, so you can forget your former life. You are no longer a criminal profiler, you're two double eight five, and you will receive training in hand-to-hand combat, gymnastics, and..." she examined her folder again, "violin."

"Violin?" She repeated incredulously.

Gillian raised an eyebrow and lifted her chin towards the man she now thought of as 'Fists'. A signal. Lizzie closed her eyes and winced, the blow coming a second later.

* * *

Escorted naked, through the rabbit warren of a facility, she looked furtively about her, trying not to appear like she was taking too much notice. Gillian had said her profiling skills weren't required. Interesting. Perhaps that was what would get her out of here. That and a lot of luck.

And Red.

She thought of him with an ache in her chest. What had he done? Did he know this was what would happen? Was he coming for her after all? Was Jennifer safe? She blinked back tears.

She was shown to a small cell. It was...padded. Did they think she might commit suicide? She paled at the possibility that it might get bad enough that she could want to. She shivered, despite the perfectly controlled temperature.

* * *

Red sat leaning back into his chair, his legs crossed indolently. Only his stillness an indicator of the tempest underneath the surface and noticed only by those who knew him well.

"I need a report from Java. We haven't heard from them recently."

"Yes, Sir," Dembe was careful around him these days. "I'll ask Sherman to make contact. What do you want done with him?" He indicated to the bloody mess of a man quivering at Red's feet.

Red regarded the mess with distaste. And shot a round directly into the man's skull. "Call Mr Kaplan." With that he stood and strode out of the room.

It had been weeks. _Weeks._ Red grew more and more volatile. He'd gone immediately to his allies. He hadn't bothered with strategy. Favors were called in, regardless of how valuable or how long he had hoarded the favor. He was on Roger Hobbs' doorstep within the first few days.

He'd wasted time chasing Tom. The man was locked up so tight in the protection of the cabal, there was no way to reach him. He was no Kenneth Jasper. He didn't have ties to exploit other than Elizabeth and that was an obvious dead end.

He daydreamed about what he would do to Tom if he found him. He must have had _something_ to do with Lizzie's kidnapping. What exactly, wasn't immediately clear to him.

The Cabal. They'd played least in sight for some time now, busy dealing with the fall out of the fulcrum. He'd organised protection details for every journalist he'd invited to his little show. He'd had to pull most of them out and redirect to finding her, leaving the journalists vulnerable and his organization pulled in two different directions. His business couldn't stand the strain much longer.

The Cabal was winning by default.

It didn't feel quite right though. At first he was sure they had taken her, with Tom's help. But he'd carefully pushed, nudged a little here and there, and all the information turning up seemed to indicate that yes, they were aware she'd been taken, but they may have had little to do with it.

His left eye twitched.

* * *

Lizzie sat quietly by herself in a cafeteria, eating her evening meal. She assumed it was evening. By now she had deduced that they were underground so it was impossible to tell.

She listlessly stirred the slop she'd been given. She was so lonely. Conversation was going on all around her but in other languages. She'd discovered in her first couple of days that virtually every other prisoner spoke English and half a dozen other languages. But each day, a different language was selected to speak to each other and punishments were doled out for failure to adhere. English hadn't been selected once. She felt that might be a deliberate ploy to disadvantage and isolate her. It was Japanese today. Last week it had been Russian for days on end.

She thought of the others as fellow prisoners but she didn't think they thought of themselves that way. She'd observed carefully and everyone seemed to be reasonably happy, compliant even. Groups of adults walked freely through the complex. Nudity was common. No one seemed to have an issue with it except Liz. She'd felt intense humiliation the first time she'd been required to take a seat in the cafeteria. Clothes were given as special treats that could be taken away. Hair ribbons and pretty earrings were coveted. Trading these was punished severely. If you'd earned something, it was yours until it was taken away by staff.

Liz loathed and feared the possibility that one day she too might be grateful to receive a hair ribbon.

The staff. She was shocked at how many people they had...and how normal they all were. Up to the point where she'd committed an infraction and received such swift and awful punishment that she couldn't look into those friendly faces and see normal anymore. They were monsters.

She hunched at the memory. Her first infraction. She'd just wanted to test the waters, see how far she could go. Stupid. Her first ten minutes in this place should have been enough of an indication.

She'd been given a time table. Places to be each day. She had no free time although she noticed a few of the others did.

First thing that day was weapons training. She'd filed into the classroom. There were maybe four other students. All so young. She had enough of Liz Keen, the FBI agent left in her to be concerned about them. How did anyone actually get here? They hadn't told her anything further since the first day about why she was here or what they wanted. She'd been surreptitiously observing the other students when her instructor walked in.

A diminutive woman, her boyish figure accentuated by her black, close fitting clothing. Her outfit reminded Liz of what she'd choose if she'd had a choice of outfit.

She'd walked in, a sway in her step, looking for all intents and purposes as Liz would on a Monday morning at the Post Office. Liz recalled, she'd approached them with a warm smile on her face.

"Good morning, My name is Mercy."

"And we're not getting any?" She'd snickered.

The smile had disappeared from the instructor's face frighteningly fast. There was silence for one heartbeat. Then before she knew what had happened, she'd been tackled to the ground, flat on her back and Mercy's face loomed above her. She had Liz in a choke hold. Knowing it was useless and would only get her into more trouble, she tried to relax into it, to do nothing. But the woman didn't stop. Liz started to see black spots in her vision and her body just took over. She thrashed and clawed helplessly as her vision closed in on her.

Then suddenly air whooshed into her lungs. She coughed painfully, desperately trying not to puke.

Mercy had let her up, even given her a hand up and instructed her to present herself to Gillian at the end of the lesson.

She can remember resentfully thinking she'd already graduated high school. Being sent to the Principal's office was a bit much wasn't it?

She had found herself in Gillian's office. She'd scanned the room. Bookshelves, sure. She didn't recognize any of the titles off hand. A neat desk, not surprising. A framed photograph. She had a family. Children? She looked old enough to perhaps be a grandmother by now, her sleek, blonde hair more likely from a bottle than natural.

She'd looked up as Gillian entered the room.

"Two double eight five, you can sit."

Liz sat obediently.

"Perhaps we've confused you. The rules here are simple really, and yet you couldn't follow them at all today. I had hoped to avoid our...harsher methods. We don't like to _break_ our tools, but sometimes if they're faulty, they need to be stripped down and...reassembled." She peered at Liz.

"He's not coming, you know," she said softly.

Liz almost bit her tongue in an effort to remain silent.

"You're just a weapon. He would have used you the same way if he had the resources that we do. We, at least don't offer the cruelty of...false bonds. No one here would seek to engage your affections inappropriately."

She schooled her face to blankness. Her shallow breathing the only sign she'd heard what the woman had said.

A frown flickered over the older woman's features. "Well, if there's one belief that Raymond Reddington and I share, its that, to correct...unwanted behavior, discipline needs to be tailored to the individual. Weren't you in a fire when you were a child?"

* * *

They'd taken her, begging, kicking and screaming and put her in a box. They'd left her there for an entire day, routinely forcing thick, clogging smoke through the ventilation. She couldn't breathe. She'd shrieked and cried. The first time, she thought, this is it, this is how they're going to kill me. But they always timed it so precisely. The smoke always cleared just before she felt about to pass out.

She was a mess by the time they let her out. Outwardly pathetically grateful to be alive and breathing clean air, inwardly murderous as hell. There was no mistaking the enemy.

Shaking herself from the dark thoughts enveloping her, she dumped her tray and made her way to what she'd been told were her...counseling sessions.

Her counselor was one of the men she'd seen on her first day sitting with Gillian. His name was Nate. And in counseling, she was allowed to talk. She could say anything she wanted in these sessions.

She didn't like him. He didn't like her. He was always probing her about her history as a thief. The one time she'd opened up to him about it, the next day, her gymnastics training had intensified and she'd found herself learning to rock climb all day to the point of exhaustion.

Exhaustion was a tool they used. She was required to leave her cell at 4:00AM for the morning meal and nothing really stopped until she fell into her cot at 10:00PM.

She was learning to throw a knife straight, handstands, handsprings, learning how to use her body to incapacitate, maim, even kill.

She bitterly resented that no matter how obedient she was, if she couldn't produce the skill level they wanted at a given time, it was back to the box. She spent a lot of time in the box.

* * *

"Reddington, we think we've found her."

"Where?"

"There's a U.S. military base in the middle of the desert in Western Australia. They took her there. We're not sure where she's being held exactly but that's where she was last seen."


	6. Out like a lion

****Rating change to M coming up in the next chapter. Thanks again to FilmsAreFriends for amazing Beta'ing!****

 ** **Go Lizzie!****

* * *

 **~ Present day ~**

"Gillian," he muttered under his breath. "There was a project…" He broke off in surprise. Lizzie had been inching towards him on the sofa for some time now and he'd been pretending not to notice. She had just now tucked her head under his arm.

"It feels good to talk about it," she plowed on, not hearing him, "Being constantly afraid is one thing, but the worst was the loneliness. I was so desperate, toward the end I think I would have had a conversation about the weather with Gillian if she'd just talk to me like a real person."

He made a noise in his throat. Looking down at her, he contained a sigh. She was so pale, her freckles stood out starkly on her cheeks. He was grateful she was unbending toward him; he just hoped it was more than the Valium taking effect.

"You can talk to me, you can tell me everything and be safe, Lizzie. You know that?"

She pulled away from him slightly and searched his face.

"She knew you, Gillian did. Or at least knew of you. How? How did me just being born give them the right..." Her breathing was becoming shallow and shaky again.

His hands shook. Please, he thought. Let this be handled right. He needed more time.

"I know of her yes, I've worked with some of her...colleagues. But understand this, I oppose the work they do in every way. I had reason to believe they were continuing their...experiments when I sent you after Linus Creel. I had no idea of the horrific stage they had taken their little project to. You're telling me they have an army of assassins for hire, drones but with the human element giving them far more complexity and usefulness."

He gently patted her arm. "I'll need to send Dembe out to make some emergency calls. I have a terrorist attack to call off."

She blinked. "What?"

"I've got a dirty bomb about to go off in Sydney," he paused. "You're safe now, so that won't be necessary."

"What? You were going to bomb a city?" Why?"

He looked at her wryly. "Well, nothing else was working."

* * *

She heard Red softly talking to Dembe in the hallway. Then the gentle click of the front door closing. Red returned to the room alone and sat back down next to her. She was stunned and supposed she must have looked it.

He lifted a hand to cup her face. "I told you once I understood a man who would burn the world down for the one person he cared about."

"You told me I was presumptuous," she said a little resentfully, "That wasn't nice if it wasn't true."

He chuckled. "Well at the time, you _were_ only presuming. Just because it was true..." he trailed off, smiling slightly.

Her mouth quirked in response. "I missed this, missed you. I was so angry at you, angry at myself for missing you. I know it was my choice but I thought they were just going to kill me. Not...steal my humanity and make me keep living. And I blamed you. They wanted me to, encouraged it even. I didn't realize it at first. Just the odd, occasional thing Gillian would say. And then the day came when I realized what they had planned..."

* * *

 **~ 1 month ago ~**

The blaring sirens. Her morning wake up call. God, she missed a clock radio.

She wearily got ready for the day and emerged from her cell looking at the LED notice board above her head. Her heart fluttered painfully. English. For the first time, they were speaking English today. She scrambled to get to the cafeteria. People! She could talk to people!

She shyly sat next to a woman she'd sat with before. Previously they'd made do with a smile and a few gestures.

"Hi, I'm Liz".

The woman looked at her reprovingly. "No, you're two double eight five. I'm Michelle."

Liz blinked. "Why do you get a name and I'm just a number?"

Michelle shrugged. "It's not a good idea to question so much. I've heard you. You ask a lot of questions. Aren't you tired of the corrective therapy yet? Just do as you're told."

Taken aback, Liz tried a different tactic, "So, do you have any idea why they're so obsessed with me learning the violin? They keep saying I'm a weapon. What's so dangerous about the violin?"

The other woman smirked. "Everything they do, all the things they teach us are all for very specific purposes. Most of us have been training for years. Different things for each assignment. I spent years learning how to pilot a small plane. My target was a vintage plane enthusiast. Easy to believe that it was a terrible accident. He was just a doing what he loved when he died."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Okay, but...violin? What am I gonna do? Garrote someone with a violin string?"

Liz was rewarded with a laugh from the other woman. She smiled back.

"Maybe, but more than likely, it's a long term thing. The target is probably a rich and powerful donor to a philharmonic orchestra or something similar. Whoever he is, he probably has a thing for violinists. They'll put you in his bed, I'd say," she said matter-of-factly.

The smile slipped from her face. She stood from her seat unsteadily. " I don't think I'm that hungry today."

She moved to dump her tray, listening in to the conversation around her, her ears so unused to English after all this time.

That's when she heard it.

" _No! Really? The one on the news? I saw something about that when I was out on an assignment."_

" _Yeah, didn't the 'Concierge of Crime' have something to do with her?"_

" _I heard he killed her adoptive father and she just…kept on with him. I heard he has a way with people. Must have been something to see, wrangling that situation to his advantage. You know I've heard they're going to send her after him. I wonder if she'll succeed. It's not like she's had time to get as good as the rest of us. They'll probably end up killing each other."_

She froze. She wanted to vomit. The air felt so thin. Her eardrums seemed as though they would burst and a hot flush spread across her cheeks and down her neck. As though she were wading through waist deep water, she began moving back the way she came, self-preservation screaming at her to get out, get away before they saw her and realized she'd heard.

She stretched her arms blindly out, reaching for the nearest thing that looked like an exit. She shouldered her way through a door. She had to get back to her cell. She sobbed out a ragged breath. Just breathe, she instructed herself. She took in long deep breaths, desperate for oxygen, anything to make the world stop lurching and spinning.

Slowly, the world came back into focus. She had to make a plan. She couldn't stay here anymore. Not if they wanted her to kill Red.

* * *

 **~ 3 weeks ago ~**

Red mingled in the ballroom of the Pierre. Daring, his people had said. To come to New York when there was still a manhunt on for him. It was strategic, he'd thought. He needed to demonstrate that he could still thumb his nose at the Feds. Show his associates and others that he was still the untouchable Raymond Reddington.

Because he was going to be calling in a few more favors for his next attempt at finding and freeing her.

He'd tried stealth. He'd gone there himself. To the middle of the Gibson desert in Australia. Only to find a very large and well defended US military base. There had been no sign of her. And he'd looked into it. Personally.

He'd placed people on the base. Nothing had turned up. No whisper of prisoners, secret government schemes or anything at all to indicate she might be there.

But they had the satellite pictures. It had been her, escorted off of a plane near the base. He recognized her blouse as one she had worn to the museum with him just before she'd been taken. She'd been cuffed with a bag over her head.

Ah, there. Across the room. Laurence Dechambeau. He inclined his head toward her. It had been a while.

"Youthful as ever Laurence," he offered brightly, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips briefly.

"It's a pity I cannot say the same about you Raymond. You're looking...tired" she'd sniped in faintly accented English.

He laughed artificially, he was not amused. "Well we can't all have your French genes can we? Luck of the draw I suppose."

He procured her a glass of champagne from the tray of a nearby waiter.

"Laurence, its so _funny_ you're here, because I heard a rumor you might have some information for me, that you could even offer me a little...assistance. Is that true?"

She cocked her head to the side and smiled. "For a price."

He laughed jovially. "Everything's for sale, my dear. Placing his hand on her lower back, he indicated to the exit of the ballroom with his other hand. "Shall we?"

Later that night he'd gone back to his suite. Weary and irritable, he'd not taken well to finding her waiting in his bed.

He'd glanced scathingly at her, taking off his bow tie. "The arrangement we came to tonight? The bomb? I'll double the money I'm offering for you to _get out_."

Foolish perhaps, to offend an ally. But all he could think of was Lizzie's face if she'd ever found out.

* * *

"I want my name."

Lizzie sat straight-backed and cross-legged on the floor. She'd just completed hours of gymnastics training. Her natural flair for it often made it a vaguely enjoyable experience.

She was perfectly still, not like a living thing at all. "I'll do this for you, but I want you to call me by my name. Some of the others have a name."

Gillian laughed delightedly. "Of course. Once you've proven you're a tool, a useful weapon and nothing _but_ a tool, I'll give you a name. After all, even my vacuum cleaner has a name." She smiled brightly and stood up from her chair. She turned to go but stopped and faced the cross legged woman again. "Oh, and you'll have some time in the box before you go, I think. I don't negotiate with my…things."

For just a millisecond, if you'd looked closely, you would have seen a slump in her shoulders as she stared after the blonde woman.

* * *

 **~ 2 weeks ago ~**

Her heart was hammering in her chest. Her first assignment. And her escape. It was all coming to fruition. She just needed things to go right for a bit longer.

She'd been introduced to her handler, Nicola. A plain, muscular, mousy-haired woman who would be posing as her assistant. Her own cover? She was Bridget, a wealthy, spoiled American socialite. Nicola would accompany her everywhere.

Her target was the heir of a Greek shipping magnate. His name was Andreas, he was 19 and already had a receding hairline. His weaknesses were gambling and pretty, available women.

Boring.

Reading between the lines, Andreas had stolen some papers that were very important and potentially very embarrassing to daddy and his associates. Because daddy wouldn't do anything about it, it looked like the business associates were going to take care of the problem for him.

Her job was to locate the documents, take care of the kid and make sure it looked like an accident.

Last night at the casino she'd carefully flirted. Just enough. He was receptive. And who wouldn't be? She was alluring, she could acknowledge that even to herself. A full length, backless, black satin dress and Harry Winston diamonds around her throat were perfect accompaniments for her blue eyes, porcelain skin and pouting red lips. It had been easy. She'd fluttered around him all night. He'd had some luck so she'd immediately suggested she was his "good luck charm". He'd been hooked. She received an invitation to accompany him on his yacht the next day. It had been a straightforward assignment, just testing her out, see how she handled herself.

She'd already thought of half a dozen ways to get away. She could barely believe they were really going to let her out in public. Did they think she wouldn't run?

But Nicola had clarified that the first day.

"You're wearing this bracelet the whole time. If you try and take it off, it will result in the bracelet forcibly injecting you with enough barbiturate to kill you. You won't have time to get help, you won't have time for anything. If you're not where I expect you to be or I think you've run, I will press this button," she indicated to the small remote in her hand, "and the same thing will happen. Any questions?"

"None," she'd responded flatly. She knew there wasn't a chance of overpowering the woman. And she'd been locked in her suite each night. Not an option then, to try and attack her after she'd gone to sleep.

The bracelet dug tightly into her wrist. A reminder of how trapped she really was.

She was on board the luxurious yacht, lying back by the pool. She was sure she was pulling off the relaxed, sun kissed socialite vibe, all the while her heart pounded like a bullet train. She had to to think of something, fast.

Andreas had been regaling her for the past hour with his luck at the poker table. She'd done her best to appear captivated. So clever, so handsome, she'd repeated a few times. It didn't take much to keep him happy. The poor guy seemed a bit starved for attention honestly. He was probably raised by half a dozen nannies. He seemed the type to have only scraped by in college and only by using his dad's name. He was intelligent enough to have a vague sense of his own inadequacy, but not so self aware that he knew where his problems in life stemmed from or how to fix it. He wanted to be a hero. Someone's hero anyway.

She wondered. Could he be the answer to her problem? Okay, she thought. Now we're talking.

* * *

Liz leaned over on her deck chair to face the boy. She tilted her sunglasses so that they balanced lower on her nose, her eyes peeked out from above them.

"You know, I haven't seen our accommodation yet. Am I ever going to get the grand tour?" She giggled girlishly.

Oh, how he scrambled. "Yes! Of course." He'd risen from his deck chair and held his hand out for her eagerly. She'd grabbed at it, flouncing away with him, running her hands down his back, murmuring about how strong he was, how masculine.

She didn't look at Nicola as they made their way past her, sitting in the sun.

He took her into the master bedroom. This was it, this was her only chance to gain an ally where her handler couldn't follow. She prayed she'd profiled this guy as well as she thought she had.

"Andreas," she'd whispered, carefully inserting a damsel in distress note into her voice and gently pushing him up against a wall. "We don't have much time."

"We don't?"

"Nicola, she works for the woman my father is dating. She's been forcing me to keep quiet about it, but I caught her stealing from my father. I want to tell him," she confided tearfully. "But the old hag somehow has gotten pictures of me…private pictures… she's threatened to show them to my father and everyone at the club if I didn't keep my mouth shut. I need your help." She pleaded artfully.

"Oh wow, Bridget, I didn't know."

 _ **Well of course not**_ , thought Liz disgustedly. "No one knows how much stress I've been under," she mewled aloud.

"Well, what could you do? Could you find something else that she wants to hide? If you have two things against her one, you could double-blackmail her," he suggested brightly.

Interesting. Liz wondered if that's what had happened with the documents he'd stolen.

She shook her head dolefully. "There's nothing I can think of...well there is one thing."

"What? If I can help, you know I will Bridg." He puffed his chest out and leaned into her.

One trust fund baby to another. He thought they were star crossed lovers. It was too easy, she'd thought.

"Well, I know she has the photos on a flash drive. I've seen it, it kind of looks like a remote."

Careful, careful, she thought. She was wary of getting the balance between selling it and overdoing it right.

"Please help me, I don't know how to get them from her." She'd wrung her hands. For a moment she wondered if she'd tipped the balance to overselling it but his expression hardened at the thought of her distress and he stroked her hair and kissed her brow like a father would. _**Weird**_ , she'd thought.

"Okay, I have a plan," he said excitedly. "We'll get her drunk and steal it from her when she's too far gone to notice."

"That won't work," she responded irritably, "I mean," she amended quickly, "the woman never drinks. She's supposedly my assistant but the only thing she's here for is to watch me. She spies on me."

He sighed heavily and sat on the bed. She sat lightly next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. She thought with a sickening pang of homesickness of only a few months ago when she'd lay her head on Red's shoulder in the very same way. Please, she prayed, let this work.

"You know," slowly, she thought...tread lightly, you don't want to spook him, "Your skipper, he looked like a guy that knows who's boss. I bet if you asked him, he could help. He'd need to restrain her while we searched her bag."

He looked shocked.

"It's okay," she said quickly. "You've been so good to me, I shouldn't be asking you to sort out my problems."

"No, wait," he'd said impulsively.

"Oh, thank you!" She'd squealed, throwing her arms around his neck. "Daddy will be so grateful to you when he finds out."

His eyes brightened at that.

* * *

They'd whispered a few plans. Then they'd left the safety of the stateroom to head back to the pool. She'd giggled and murmured in his ear, careful to put on a show for Nicola. Let her see she was being a good little assassin.

Dinner was an odd affair. Nicola had instructed Lizzie to ensure that she received an invitation to whatever candlelit dinner he'd been planning. She'd hoped to use dinner to iron out the finer details. She smothered her disappointment with a cold look at the woman.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be. He's not going to believe I'm interested in sleeping with him if I'm bringing my assistant to romantic dinners."

She hadn't been impressed. "Make him believe it," she'd said with finality.

Lizzie sat, awkward and tense, sweating with nerves. Everytime he made a move to refill her wine glass, his movements were so jerky and off putting, she was sure Nicola must know something was up. He wasn't playing the part of a sexed up playboy who knew he had a sure thing. Instead, he was edgy and panicky. He was going to give them away.

The three course dinner was agonisingly slow but eventually it was over. Would Bridget come to his stateroom for a nightcap, he'd asked. Oh yes, but first, she said, catching her handlers eye; she had to respond to some business her father had sent her. She'd just be in Nicola's room. Just for a moment.

She smiled prettily.

She'd been the one to lead the way, her handler only a step behind her. It happened so quickly, Liz almost didn't have time to react. She hadn't been expecting it here, at the door of Nicola's room.

A large body had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. They'd _thrown_ themselves at her handler. His Chef, he'd gotten the _chef_ to do it. Idiot. But then there he was as well, and his skipper. Piling on the woman, it had taken all three of them to restrain her. After all, she'd had training too.

Lizzie made a grab for the woman's hands and fiercely held them back above her head.

"Don't let her get her hands in her pockets," she'd screeched.

"Why?" Poor Andreas was straining against the prone woman, trying to hold a knee down and failing. The woman kicked out and knee'ed him in the face.

She had to get the remote. Now.

Wrapping her hands tightly around the woman's throat, she squeezed, hard. She felt joints pop and muscle slip under her thumbs. She kept on squeezing.

"Stop," they'd yelled, the skipper trying to pull her off of her handler. Cries of alarm. They didn't want to kill her, wasn't it just a petty blackmail file?

Gasping and shaking with adrenaline, she shoved her hands into the unconscious woman's pockets, rummaging desperately, dread coursing through her. Please let it be here. Please.

It was. She felt the sweetness of victory so near. Examining the remote with trembling hands, she'd ignored the crew's dark looks and the confusion and shock on Andreas' face. She carefully felt over the buttons. Oh yes, so close now. Similar to the buttons on an elevator, opening arrows on one, closing arrows on the other. She glanced briefly at the body of her handler. She was stirring, gasping for air. Andreas and the crew were crowded around her, offering help, weak explanations, trying to disavow themselves of any involvement.

She'd slipped into the cabin while they were occupied.

There it was. She was going to have to shoot someone. In cold blood. Again. No one was making her do it. It wasn't an assignment. It was on her.

She tore about the room, throwing things into Nicola's shoulder bag. She needed a phone and money. And a gun.

She slipped out the door, the bag across her body and the gun aimed at the little group on deck.

Nicola struggled to sit up. Liz kept the gun trained on her. Gradually, one by one, they all become aware of the desperate looking woman with a gun pointed, standing before them.

"Bridg, what are you doing," Andreas had said sharply.

She shot the woman in the chest.

Screams tore through the night air. The cacophony was too much for her frazzled mind. She shot into the air.

"Quiet," she'd said, firm, businesslike. "Andreas, throw me the master keys. Everyone else, turn out your pockets."

They'd stared at her for a moment. "Do it," she bellowed and suddenly there was a rush to obey. She was the one with the gun.

She took the keys with a nod of gratitude, as though he'd only handed her the salt across the table.

Their faces. She would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so fraught with danger.

"Turn around, and take me to the boiler room," she'd instructed calmly. She didn't feel calm. Was that really her voice?

She'd locked the crew up, keeping her gun trained on Andreas. The poor boy was terrified, his movements exaggerated and slow, in an effort to show her he wasn't going to pull any surprises.

"Back to your room, please."

They'd slowly marched to the stateroom. She'd pulled Nicola's laptop from her shoulder bag and thrust it in front of him.

"I need you to transfer 10 million dollars into an account for me."

"Whose 10 million?" he'd asked, horrified.

"Yours."

"What? I don't have access to that kind of money! Are you crazy?"

She'd shoved the gun into his face. She'd have to scare him. She didn't have time for this.

"How much _do_ you have access to then?"

Poor guy was trembling. "Five and a half. Maybe. Probably," he'd squeaked.

"That'll do."

He cleared his throat and reached for the laptop. "Which account?"

She smiled sourly. "This one," she wrote the account number down on a piece of paper. She sent a silent prayer of thanks for Sam. He'd opened her first savings account on her behalf when she was 13, in an effort to teach her how to manage money. The account lay forgotten after her first summer job but she was sure it still had enough money in it to keep it open all these years. She hoped.

It worked. He presented the laptop to her fearfully.

"Please don't kill me," he'd whispered.

She chewed at her bottom lip. What now? She had to keep moving quickly, she felt a tide of emotion coming for her. She was numb for now but it was coming. And she needed to be out, to be free when it caught up to her.

"Your dad's friends," she'd said impulsively. "They contracted me to take back what you stole, to kill you. You need to talk to your dad if you trust him, or run, or both. I don't care what you do. But you're taking this boat back into harbor, and I'm leaving. That's the best you'll get from me. If you don't cooperate, I _will_ shoot you."

"Okay...okay," his hands were up, eyes wide.

He did well. He didn't make a sound until they'd docked. She didn't allow herself to feel pity yet but she knew she'd feel guilty afterwards, at how she'd treated him.

"I'm locking you in here, don't try and get out. The coast guard will come for you...eventually."

She indicated to a broom closet. He reluctantly stepped inside. She locked the door and closed her eyes.

No one else around. No one to tell her what to do. She was free.

And terribly afraid of her freedom.


	7. Somebody sweet to talk to

**~ Present day ~**

Red's face was very still as she recounted her story, his features revealing nothing of the thoughts whirring in his brain. He'd noticed the bracelet early on. A thick, chunky band of silver, engraved with pretty curlicues and leaves. And it was around her wrist. Even now.

"Why do you still have that piece of junk on if you've been able to remove it for weeks?" He demanded harshly. Fear was making him harder than he meant to be. He hoped desperately that she wasn't about to tell him she'd lost the remote or it hadn't worked.

She wilted. "I can't do it. I... wanted to, the first night. I booked a hotel room and just.. I was too afraid. I had nothing left. They took everything that was wrong or messed up about me and used it, they gave me a purpose and then I let myself out and now..."

She looked up at him, her eyes luminous. She stretched her hand out to him. The remote was in her palm. "Will you do it?"

He leaned back to look at her. All of her. She was smaller. It wasn't just that they had half starved and forced exhausting routines on her. She took up less space. Her body folded in on itself. Her shoulders hunched and her head ducked low.

"No."

"No? Why?" She uttered the words fearfully.

"Lizzie, who rescued you?"

"No one. I rescued myself."

"Yes. You did."

She understood what he was trying to tell her. She rolled her eyes.

But she pressed the button on the remote. The bracelet clicked and fell away. She stared at it in her hands. Gone. The last vestige of her captivity, all gone.

* * *

He'd told her that he needed to freshen up. They'd spent almost a whole day talking through some of the most exhausting and painful memories of their lives. At times, she'd sobbed until she was almost physically sick. And he'd kept it together, for her. But now he just needed…he didn't know what he needed. He needed the last 4 months to have never happened to her.

He stripped off his shirt and pants. His whole body shook as he turned on the spray. Bowing his head, he let hot water sluice over him. Still shuddering, not even really aware of what was happening; tears spilled over and mingled with the water, stinging his eyes. He braced against the shower wall, resting his head against it, and sobbed. His breath hitched loudly as he tried vainly to contain it.

"Red?"

His head shot up. Lizzie was standing there in the bathroom, completely naked. They stared at each other in shock.

"Lizzie?" He turned the water off, grabbing a towel. "Where are your clothes?"

"Why are you crying?"

He stilled, tears dripped on his face.

"I'm sorry," she stuttered. "They spent so much time telling me when I was or wasn't allowed to wear clothes…I forgot. Please don't cry, Red."

His heart lived outside his body and had been missing for so long. It had come back to him _bruised_.

"Lizzie, sweetheart," his voice cracked.

"Oh no, _no_ , Red," she breathed, arms outstretched for him.

He allowed her to fold him into her arms, and they sank to the floor. He clutched at her face, her hair, his hands shaking. His face contorted with the effort of holding back. He sobbed. Great, ugly, painful sobs. She soothed and murmured, holding him so close.

His sobs quieted. He held her face in his hands, slowly relearning her dimples, her lips, every freckle.

"Lizzie, you can n-"

"Don't. Don't do that Red. You've tried that before. It didn't get you very far last time."

"I won't be able to help it. Guarding you, trying to keep you safe, it's become a habit with me. I might have failed abysmally lately, but I'll always want to"

"Who rescued me again?"

He smiled. "You did. My clever girl."

She grinned triumphantly. Rubbing her cheek against his, she crawled into his lap, wrapping her long legs around his torso. She pressed herself against him, he was still dripping wet, allowing her to slide up his body easily.

She shivered. "Hold me."

He raised an eyebrow "Yes Ma'am."

She threw her arms around his shoulders, pressing her breasts to his chest. Rocking slightly she traced kisses along his neck. Her nipples grazed his chest, sending a delightful frisson to her core.

"This is nice," she whispered, "This is so nice..."

"Lizzie," he croaked, "If we're going to do this, we may want to get off the bathroom floor and find somewhere more...comfortable." He nipped her earlobe and she cried out, arching into him further.

He patted her bare ass, encouraging her to get up. Crawling off of him, she stood up and smirked. And performed a _double back handspring_ into the bedroom.

His mouth dropped for a moment and he narrowed his eyes. "Show off," he muttered, a smile hovering on his lips as he readily followed her.

* * *

He stood in the doorway, his eyes soft as he gazed at her. She'd lain back against the pillows in the middle of the bed. She smiled nervously and stretched a hand towards him.

"Red, I want you," she'd said shyly.

He'd prowled around the bed, drinking her in, reaching for her and then she was on him like a wild thing, all hands, lips and tongues and hot breaths exchanged. Their bodies grinding together, straining against and toward each other. They had tumbled across the bed and she'd straddled him. He firmly placed his hands at her hips and pushed her down on his cock, hard and deep.

She laughed breathlessly in delight. She felt as though she were flying, so absorbed in the luxury of owning her own body again. She arched into him, panting, crying out as he explored her breasts, teasing, caressing.

He took her mouth hungrily, nibbling on her bottom lip.

"Mine," he purred.

Her fingernails at his scalp, piercing. "No... mine," she growls.

Sensations build at her core, blood rushing, she thrust down on him, pivoting her hips. Her arms around his neck like a drowning woman. And she is drowning. They're both drowning, shuddering.

The shuddering ceases and they're both limp, supporting each other, her legs wound tight around his waist and his arms around her shoulders. Their breathing almost in synchronization.

He nudged her face with his nose. "Yours Lizzie. Yours always." He whispered.


	8. Halfway home

He'd been having an unusually vivid dream.

He was climbing a mountain, hiking into the wilderness. He pushed overhanging ferns from the path, feeling their delicate leaves under his fingers. He wet his feet in a fast running stream, cold as ice and clear as the day around him. He'd felt so at peace, in the quiet. The view into the valley was magnificent. His heart felt as though it would burst from his chest. No mistakes here, no regrets.

His keen eyes observed the sudden change in the atmosphere. A fog was rolling in. Swift and thick, it had taken away his view of the valley and filled him with a sense of foreboding. Thicker and thicker, it rolled in until he couldn't even see his hands. The air thinned and he found it gradually harder to breathe. A weight settled on his chest. He gasped for breath.

His eyes flicked open. A body sitting on him. Hands around his throat. Not hurting, not completely cutting off his air supply but warning that they could.

"Lizzie, what's wrong?" He said it said loudly, hoping she'd just been having a bad dream.

She didn't say anything. She wasn't fully aware of him. He grabbed at her wrists and rolled her off him.

She didn't let go. Grunting in discomfort he pulled at her hands around his throat.

"Lizzie...Lizzie, wake up!"

"I'm awake," she'd said confused.

"You're choking me..."

She released him suddenly in realization.

"What happened, did you forget where you were?" His voice low and concerned.

"I...had a dream... Red, I think it's time for you to tell me more about my parents.

Silence.

"I think the reason you wanted to keep it from me was because of the people that had me. They still got to me though. The worst already happened. Please, I need to understand more about myself. I need to make sense of it," she'd said tiredly.

He swallowed. He'd never intended to tell her. Ever. The less she knew, the safer she was. But she was right. Not anymore. His whole reason for keeping her past from her had become obsolete.

And he had become intimate with her.

It was light outside. They'd slept the whole night through. He wondered if this would be his first and last night spent with her. After he told her, she may never want to see him again, let alone touch him.

"Come on, let's go get croissants from the bakery down the street. We'll talk."

Her eyes brightened, surprised.

* * *

They strolled slowly through the park. He'd gotten a "pain au chocolat" despite his earlier intention.

She'd held his hand. His heart twisted.

"Lizzie", he began, sitting at a park bench, "when I knew your parents, they were both in intelligence. They were top of their field. Your father and I were very good friends, or as good as you can be in that line of work."

He paused to take a steadying breath. "They weren't just valued for their abilities. The…project that took you was only in its infancy. It had started seeking out intelligence operatives all over the world. At first it was just information they wanted from U.S. operatives. They wanted to map the genomes of particular agents. All sorts of cover stories were used. They wanted to study the health of people in the military, whatever they needed to say to convince the right people to cooperate."

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She'd been quietly listening. It was hard to tell what she'd been thinking so far.

"And then came rumors of agents being experimented on. It went beyond home soil. Russia, the U.K., France. Men and women in the field would be captured, drugged and they'd find surgical scars on themselves when they woke up."

She leaned into him, twining her hands about his neck. His heart thumped. He didn't have much longer now. Could he say the words? He gently extracted himself from her embrace, capturing her hands in his but giving them a little distance.

"Lizzie, I was working for them. I didn't know much at the time or why my orders were what they were but my assignment was to chase agents who had become aware of the experimentation and had run."

Her eyes widened. "Was my mother one of them?"

He blinked rapidly. "Yes."

She stiffened. "Did you kill my mother?"

"No. No, but I'm the reason..."he cleared his throat and started again, "she'd been running for years. Ever since she became pregnant with you _. Her_ case, I was particularly interested in. Because she'd told my friend he was the father right before the both of them disappeared. I chased them both for four years. I started asking questions. It was personal. I wanted to know why I was chasing down, at times, pregnant women, scared and desperate former operatives. It was off, it didn't make sense."

He furtively glanced at her. Her posture hadn't loosened but she was still listening.

"I caught up with Katerina. The both of them...had somehow obtained the fulcrum. It allowed them to stay two steps ahead. To keep you safe. They played the Cabal off the project. Blackmailed them into helping your small family. But I still caught up to her."

"And then a new order came through. Forget the two agents I'd been chasing for years on end and bring in the little girl."

She gasped.

"You kidnapped me?"

"No, it's not that simple Lizzie. I've told you that before."

She frowned. "What then?"

He inhaled, preparing to relate the worst bit.

"I convinced Katerina to give you up for her freedom."

"What? I don't believe that! What kind of moth-" she broke off, outraged.

He bowed his head. "Your father ran with you and the fulcrum…and your mother helped me find you."

He looked despairing, afraid of her. Afraid _for_ her.

She continued for him, "And so you found our safe house, my parents got into an argument and I shot my father. What then?" Her voice was hard.

His jaw worked furiously. "It was...confusing. A lot of people were in the house and I don't think we'll ever know if it was deliberate or an accident but the fire started in the living room. I searched the house, everyone else had run. I found you hiding in the closet. You were understandably upset. We got out. We were both injured, you and I. I…looked at your little face and I wondered...why? Why chase two brilliant agents for four years and then at the eleventh hour, decide to take a little girl instead?"

He waited for her to interject but she said nothing.

"So I took you and ran," he continued, "I ran to Sam. He hid you, adopted you, and I kept running."

She was staring straight ahead now. No longer facing him.

"Lizzie," he began tentatively, "It was the worst thing I've ever done in my life...what I did to Katerina…and you. I don't expect you to forgive me. I've never forgiven myself."

"What was my father's name?" She was whispering hoarsely.

"Jonathan Moore."

She glanced at him. "So the experiments...they were fiddling with all the super spies of the eighties then?"

"Yes, stealing sperm samples, stealing eggs, very rarely even going so far as to impregnate with no consent. We can assume from what Gillian said, that I would have been instructed to hand you over to them."

"You didn't regret it? You lost your family because of me."

His lips thinned. "No, I lost my family because of the Cabal, Lizzie. I kept looking into it. I had questions and some of them were answered then…and some were answered yesterday. The Cabal had, for all intents and purposes, pre-ordered you. They were heavily invested in the project. They wanted the offspring of Jonathan and Katerina. They knew about the warrior gene even back then. I'd place a bet on both of your parents having that gene."

"And that's why you didn't want me to know about my parents", she whispered. "If I'd called any attention to who they really were, it would have…"

"Been a beacon to the Cabal, yes."

* * *

She wanted time. They'd gone back to the suite and he'd left her there, placing a chair outside the front door. Guarding her.

Hours passed. He heard no noise from the suite. He waited.

In the soft light of the late afternoon, she opened the door harshly.

He cowered inwardly, following her back inside.

She sighed. "You should have told me a long time ago. Maybe even before I'd left Sam's."

"No," he said resolutely, shaking his head, a mulish expression on his face. "You had a good childhood. That would have changed that."

"Don't you think it's a little unfair..." she began, her voice quavering.

He looked at her understandingly. "That I let us become something more, and didn't tell you before?"

She nodded.

He rubbed his hand across his face, trying to clear the grim thoughts of the past few hours.

"Yes, it was incredibly unfair to you. I never intended our relationship at the FBI to become so… close."

"When you love someone you have no control," she murmured.

He looked at her meaningfully. "Yes."

She regarded him thoughtfully. "I'm probably going to be a bit prickly for a while."

"When are you n-... ah."

She narrowed her eyes.

"Any other big revelations for me? Last chance, Reddington."

He smiled, closing in to kiss her gently.

"None."

* * *

Dembe had come back later that evening. It had been so long since she'd seen him. She hadn't really had a chance to properly greet him the day before.

He'd pointedly restocked the refrigerator.

They'd had the most… _normal_ dinner. She'd felt like she was with family. Red had cooked. He hadn't liked her in the kitchen, giving her a tap on the bottom, telling her to move her ass out of there before she burned something.

She'd laughed.

After dinner they'd played cards until Dembe started yawning and went to bed.

She'd nestled into Red's arms, her eyes half closed. Her mind had wandered, she was just enjoying feeling his lips in her hair.

Her brain had seized on something Red had said earlier that day. She twisted to face him.

"Did you say my parents used the Fulcrum to blackmail the Cabal? To play them off each other?"

"Yes, but we've already used that play."

"Okay sure, but before, you knew next to nothing about the project. We know so much more now. I paid attention while I was there."

He looked interestedly at her. "Keep going..."

"The Cabal is on the back foot right? And the project just lost me and a handler in a very hard to cover up way. There were witnesses. Both organizations are in turmoil."

"So now is a fortuitous time to insert people into each organization, make it look like there are attacks on one from the other. Let them destroy each other," he'd finished, giving her an impressed look that warmed her to her toes.

"I have so many names I could give you, things they said right in front of me. They were too used to their drones not having a mind of their own I guess. It could take months, even years...but Red, with careful planning and your resources, it would work!"

"That's my girl!"


End file.
